


The Collector

by Anonymous



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dubious Consent, Fucked Up, M/M, Multiple Relationships, Power Dynamics, Threesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 12:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ed uses Solomon Grundy for power and pleasure.  Little does he know, Grundy is just the beginning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please be warned that as the tags say, this fic is dark, contains dubious consent, and is in general fucked up
> 
> sorry to god and the universe at large

Edward likes to think he isn't a predictable man by nature. Oswald challenges that idea, as Oswald challenges all facets of his life, and the encounter on the docks still replays in his mind.

But in some ways, Oswald is right. Even Ed's fractured mind knows it to be true. Ed likes these: challenges, infamy, intellect.

Power. Control.

The kind he wanted to wield over Oswald, both in and out of the bedroom. The kind he got a taste of, that night when he had Oswald on the roof of that car. He wanted more.

And the first time Grundy mindlessly obeys every command Ed issues in the fighting ring, Ed smiles like a shark.

"Well. Hello there," he purrs to himself.

-

They settle into a routine: Grundy throws his weight in the ring, obeying Ed's orders and suggestions, and then in the bedroom, on his knees and sucking Ed's cock with such ferocity he has to remind Grundy more than once to mind his teeth.

He listens. He's good like that.

When Grundy wins Ed a fat pocketful of money, Ed fills a different hole for Grundy. The beastly man bends over the table, big cheeks jiggling as Ed pounds his ass until Grundy spills, painting the table white as he groans reminiscent of Frankenstein's monster.

Their routine is odd but works, and Ed enjoys the comfort of a good, stable rhythm.

-

And when a certain Executioner escapes, winds up at the fight club door dressed like a leather clad wet dream and seeking purpose, Ed smiles so hard his face hurts.

"Hello there."

-

Routines shift like water, making a new flow. Grundy and Barnes are similar in the ring, all raw power that Ed plays like a piano.

Ed finds they make similar lovers too.

"Down, Barnes," Ed hisses as Barnes tries to shove Grundy off Ed's dick. "Be a good boy and wait your turn."

Grundy's growling low in his throat, fat pale lips wrapped around Ed's engorged dick, side eyeing Barnes' approach like an angry dog. Barnes growls something unintelligible back, but a snap of Ed's fingers brings him back to heel.

Ed has good, trainable boys.

Grundy blows Ed sloppily, a heavy flow of saliva pooling at the floor as he happily works Ed's dick like he could do this all day. He probably could, Ed thinks, groans at the thought and yanks at Grundy's straw colored hair.

He sneaks a look at Barnes, who looks like a sad, murderous puppy.

"Don't pout, dear, it's a bad look. Go - ah, fuck, Grundy, your tongue - get ready for me. Let Daddy watch."

Barnes lights up at that, and Ed tips his head back, bares his teeth at the ceiling in rapture of his luck.

-

Ed lets Barnes ride him, makes him go slow, those meaty hips shaking with effort to keep slow. But he does, clenches around Ed's dick in an inhumanly strong vice grip that should worry Ed more than it does.

Grundy's at Ed's side, deep, guttural moans building in his throats as Ed strokes him in time with the heavy slaps of Barnes' ass against Ed's thighs.

"Come, both of you," Ed barks.

As in all things, they obey Ed joyously.

-

"You're starting a collection," Lee tells him one morning, squinting at him in the way he knows to mean she's disappointed in his life choices but knows she can't do anything about it.

Ed shrugs. "I'm an opportunist."

Lee shakes her head and takes a long drink of her coffee. "Careful, Ed, or we'll wind up with a whole neighborhood of strays."  
  
-

Ed's taking a breather outside the club when there's a rustle near the garbage cans. Ed takes a step closer, trying to see in the dim alley light.

There's Tetch, crouched by the garbage and looking like a wet, scared kitten.

Ed smiles slowly, flashing his teeth.

"Hello there."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back, back again. you all asked for more so here's more! will probably have 1-2 more chapters depending. please heed the updated tags, mainly that there's breathplay
> 
> thank you for your encouragement in this godless world i've created

"Ed, have you seen the papers for - Jesus Christ, Ed, another one?"

  
Ed gives his sweetest smile to Lee, as he strokes Tetch's hair. Tetch wriggles where he's sprawled across Ed's lap, licking his cock while Grundy and Barnes play wrestle on the ground like two excitable puppies.   
  
"Opportunist, Lee," Ed reminds Lee as he tries to resist shutting his eyes when Tetch's clever tongue swirls around the head of his dick just so.   
  
The look Lee levels him before storming away is worth the interruption.   
  
-  
  
Tetch doesn't fight. It isn't his way.   
  
He works the crowd with that impeccable charm of his, convincing men to bet higher sums of money. He's the brain where Grundy and Barnes are the brawn, all weapons at Ed's mastermind disposal. At night, Ed has all three of them naked in his room, eager to serve.   
  
They all have their roles to play.   
  
\-   
  
Tetch remembers Barnes, of course, even takes a liking to him. It takes Barnes longer to come around, memories of torment that haunt his mind, but even he can't resist Tetch's pretty face.   
  
Ed hears Tetch shout his pleasure to the heavy beat of a headboard banging on the wall, a soft growl of "guilty, take your punishment" following.   
  
Ed's glad they get along.   
  
-  
  
Grundy, for his part, doesn't mind the change in the arrangement. On the nights where Ed allows Barnes and Tetch to occupy themselves, Grundy fills the void left like a meaty monster truck.   
  
"You were the first. Don't forget that," Ed says, squeezing Grundy's throat until those angry, glazed eyes bulge.   


Grundy grumbles his approval. Ed smiles, pleased, and squeezes harder. The resulting rattling groan goes straight to Ed's dick.   
  
"Oh, Grundy. What ever should I do with you?"   
  
The veins in Grundy's thick neck are bulging when he grunts, "Anything."   
  
Ed digs his nails into that solid flesh. Grundy doesn't even bat an eye.  How exquisite.   
  
"Good answer," Ed hisses.   
  
He uses his grip on Grundy's neck to force him to his knees. Grundy goes easily.   
  
-  
  
"We need to talk about this."   
  
Lee. Ed doesn't look up from counting a stack of money. Four hundred, five hundred, six hundred.   
  
"You'll have to be more specific." Seven hundred, eight hundred.   
  
Lee crowds herself in front of Ed's table, her black painted, manicured nails tapping on the wood to get Ed's attention. He doesn't give her the satisfaction.   
  
"This place is a circus, Ed."   
  
A freak show. Ed always liked ring leaders. They put on a dramatic flair that speaks to his performer soul.   
  
"Profits are up. Cherry is pleased. Your concerns are immaterial." Nine hundred.   
  
"It's not the business factor that concerns me."   
  
One thousand. Ah.   
  
At last Ed looks up. There's a line of worry across her brow, almost like she's actually invested in Ed's wellbeing. Bizarre.   
  
"Then what, pray tell, bothers you?" Ed asks, voice cold. He likes Lee, sees what Jim saw in her, but she's trying his limited patience.   
  
"I think you'll keep filling this place with your pet projects to disguise what you really want."   
  
Ed clenches his jaw and sees red, fighting a rush of embarrassment. Lee's expression is still sharp, but when she speaks again, her voice is softened with suggestion and sympathy.   
  
"You never know. He just might like it."   
  
Ed doesn't ask who she's referring to. He's silent when she leaves.   
  
"Think about it."   
  
Ed breathes hard through his nose, nostrils flaring. He turns back to his  wad of cash, soothing his frayed edges with a comforting rhythm.   
  
One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three.   
  
-  
  
It's not like Ed hasn't thought about it. Admittedly, it hasn't been at the forefront of his mind recently. Business keeps him occupied during the day, and his trio of delights demand his attention at night. It's fulfilling, this juxtaposition of power, in ways Ed hasn't felt in a very long time. He has carved out his own little universe in this hole in the wall club, a kingdom of violence where he stands as king.   
  
But beyond these dirty walls, there's another king.   
  
\-   
  
The night is young, and they start off slow.   
  
Tetch is sprawled across the end of the bed like a pleased cat, loose limbed as he comes down from an orgasm, eyes half-shut as he watches Ed fuck into Grundy as hard as he dares. Barnes is kneeled behind Tetch, protective and waiting his turn.   
  
Ed snaps his hips on a particularly hard thrust, grins at Grundy's groan. He delights in his collection, each member bringing their own benefits. The kind of family Ed never knew he wanted: loyal and begging for his firm hand.   
  
Hips give a lazy roll, thoughtful. "What would you think," Ed addresses the group, voice breathy but each word precise, "if I invited Oswald to play."   
  
Tetch hums, and Ed looks to see his eyes shining, lips pulled in a dreamy smile.   
  
"Black and white he walks, but black and blue, you'll make him squawk," Tetch says, all singsong rhyme.   
  
Barnes makes a sound that's almost a fond laugh. Grundy pushes back onto Ed's dick, pulling him in deeper while nodding.   
  
Ed grins, allows himself to laugh as he thrusts anew.   
  
_I'm coming for you, Oswald._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> endless thank yous to everyone leaving kind feedback as we go on this journey together, i'm truly tickled that people enjoy this
> 
> onwards we go, welcome to the twilight zone

Most days, the club runs like a well-oiled machine.  The fighting ring bustles with heavyweights, with Grundy and Barnes being two of the most prized fighters.  Tetch prances around the crowd, twirling his hat and goading greedy men to gamble away their life savings.  The club’s popularity increases by word of mouth, and Ed’s enterprise of pleasure and violence has never been more profitable.

But some days, everything goes wrong.

-

Blood splatters across the floor of Lee’s clinic as Grundy lugs a wounded Barnes over to the table.  Ed is hot on their heels, teeth gritting as Barnes howls in pain from the deep, gaping wounds along his one flesh arm (the second being mechanical, currently ending in a bloody mace from the fight) chest, and stomach, tokens from his opponent.  Barnes won, but the cost was steep.  

Ed doesn’t even want to think about how long Barnes will be out of commission.  His wallet feels lighter already.

The moment Grundy helps Barnes onto the table with all the grace a beast like him can muster, Lee swoops onto him, working quickly to slow the bleeding so she can clean and stitch him up.  

She only has a minute of peace before Tetch all but kicks down the door, his eyes wide as he tries to push past Ed and get to Barnes.  Tetch is babbling nonsense, frantic as fuck, which only serves to wind up Grundy, who grunts and stomps the floor in frustration.

Ed pinches the bridge of his nose and counts to five.

Lee was right.  This place really is a circus.

“Ed,” Lee snaps, and Ed looks to see her elbow-deep in blood, eyes slanted. “Get Jervis out of here, he’s making it worse.”

As if on cue, Tetch elbows Ed in the ribs and slips past him.  He clings to the operating table like a man possessed, watching Lee work with big eyes.

“Will he be alright? What can I do?  Doctor Lee, let me help too!”

Ed exhales.  “Right.”

He grabs Tetch by the arm and hauls him outside.

When the clinic door closes behind them, Ed places both hands on Tetch’s shoulders and squeezes hard.

“Look at me, Tetch,” Ed commands, voice hoarse.

Tetch obeys, his eyes wide and wild, pupils blown in fear.  Ed loosens his hold on his shoulders and rubs them softly, trying to calm down his jittery kitten.

“He’s going to be fine.  You have to let Lee work.  There’s nothing you can do right now.  Do you understand?”

Tetch swallows hard, clearly wanting to disagree, but he nods all the same.

Ed strokes Tetch’s cheeks with his thumbs until Tetch stops shaking.

“That’s a good boy.”

-

Barnes is in recovery the next few days, and the club goes on without him.

Tetch hasn’t stopped moping since.

By the third day, Ed comes up with a plan.  He tracks down Tetch two hours before the first fight is scheduled to begin and presses a deep red envelope into his open hands.

“Daddy’s got a job for you,” Ed says.

Tetch looks from the envelope and back up to Ed.  He gives a short nod of his head, waiting further instruction.  Always so eager to obey.

“I want you to go to the Iceberg Lounge and deliver this to Oswald.  Tell him it’s from an old friend.”

“But with a rhyme?”

Ed resists the urge to sigh. “Yes, yes, you can say it as a rhyme.”

Tetch smiles so sweetly that Ed can’t help but to lean in and kiss him.

-

In between matches, Tetch brushes by Ed, pauses and leans to whisper in his ear.

“Delivered it for you.”

Ed smiles against the side of Tetch’s head.  “Come by tonight and I’ll give you your reward.”

He can feel Tetch vibrate in anticipation.

-

Ed fucks Tetch against the wall that night, slow and deep at first, just how Tetch likes it.  Tetch has his head lolled to the side, letting Ed bite and growl against his skin as Tetch wraps his legs around Ed’s waist tighter, trying to keep Ed right where he wants him.

Not that Ed would want to be anywhere else.

“So good for me today,” Ed pants, licks a stripe up Tetch’s neck to his jawline, bites along the bone until Tetch whimpers.  “Daddy rewards his good boys, doesn’t he?”

Tetch digs his ankles into the small of Ed’s back at the praise, wet dick rubbing against Ed’s stomach and leaving a trail of precum.  Tetch, Ed finds, likes praise and to be doted upon.  Likes to obey someone.  Ed had seen it back in the warehouse, when Tetch stood at Ed’s side, compliant with his hands tied.

Sometimes, Ed still ties his hands.  When he does, Tetch looks at him like Ed hung the moon just for him.

Ed snaps his hips harder in a series of fast thrusts, places an open-mouthed grin to Tetch’s cheek like he wants to bite him.

“Yes, Daddy,” Tetch breathes.

Ed gives into the urge and bites Tetch’s cheek, and the way Tetch clenches around his dick makes Ed see stars.

-

One day passes with no sign of Oswald.  Then two.  Then three.

By the end of the week, Ed feels the sharp sting of rejection.  The only thing worse than feeling it is the fact that he’s allowed Oswald to make him feel like this yet again.

Ed throws himself into his work and to his pets to help him forget.

“Distract me,” Ed demands, hands cupping Grundy’s face, nails dragging down Grundy’s cheeks.  Grundy turns his head, fat tongue licking along Ed’s fingers in compliance.

Grundy rides him hard, and Ed feels the ache in his thighs for days.

-

Barnes is cleared to fight in the ring again, and spirits run high in the club.

Ed claps Barnes on the shoulder as Tetch buzzes around them like a happy little bee.  Barnes leans into Ed’s touch, runs his hand across Tetch’s back.

When Grundy arrives and sees Barnes, he nearly tackles his fellow heavyweight to the ground, bunting his head against Barnes’ chest like a cat.

Tetch tucks himself beneath Ed’s arm as the two grapple at each other, and Ed strokes along Tetch’s hip while watching his fighters greet each other in the most physical of ways.

The gang’s back together.  All is well.

-

Another week passes, and Ed is talking to Cherry about tonight’s schedule when Barnes strides up, tapping Ed on the arm.

“What is it?” Ed asks, just a tiny bit exasperated.  He doesn’t like to be interrupted.

“Someone’s here for you,” Barnes says, eyes twinkling bright, an effect made stronger by the thick black makeup he wears like a mask.

“Tell them to wait.”

Barnes laughs, barrel-like chest heaving. “You might want to see this, boss.  Trust me.”

Ed’s gaze hardens on Barnes, sizing him up.  Barnes looks amused, but genuine.

“Fine.  If you’re wrong, I’m giving you twenty lashes tonight.”

He excuses himself from Cherry and storms to the front of the club.

-

Barnes isn’t getting any lashes tonight.

There at the entrance of the club, dressed to the nines and looking over confident in the way that means he’s actually nervous, is someone Ed definitely wants to see.

“Oswald,” Ed greets, predatory smile flaring as he closes in on the king bird.  “Hello there.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back
> 
> only one more chapter to go everyone

Oswald stands his ground, shoulders square back and expression defiant. Lips twitch in a brief, tight smile, more flash of disdain than greeting, the kind he saves for gangsters he’d rather shoot than speak to.

He lifts his hand, and within that purple-gloved grip is the sleek red envelope of Ed's invitation. Heat simmers beneath Ed's surface, blood like fire.

"I assume this is still valid," Oswald says, words clipped and challenging, like he's daring Ed to turn him away. Skipping the pleasantries - Oswald is on the defensive.  
  
Ed lets his smile curl a fraction, just a peek of predatory glee.  
  
"Of course. Mr. Tetch will escort you to the balcony."  
  
Oswald blinks, lips parting on a question he doesn't have time to ask, because as if out of thin air, Tetch pops up to Oswald's side in a flurry of navy blue sparkles. Tetch smiles like a Cheshire cat, looking Oswald up and down.  
  
"You remember him, I'm sure," Ed says.  
  
Judging by the way Oswald crinkles his nose and his face flushes an angry red, Ed takes that as a yes.  
  
"Little bird king, let me show you our ring," Tetch singsongs, offering Oswald his arm. Oswald doesn't take it. Instead, he turns a heated, wary look at Ed, who meets the brewing tantrum with a levity.  
  
"What is he doing here? And that wretched ex-captain Barnes?"  
  
Ed waves a hand in dismissal of accusations.  
  
"Not to worry.  They both work here," Ed says. A pause and flash of teeth, and he adds in a lower voice, "Among other things."  
  
Tetch snickers, beaming from Ed, Oswald, and back to Ed again, eyes crinkled at the edges with mirth over the dangled secret. Oswald frowns and narrows his eyes, trying to read in between the lines, and Ed only laughs and turns back to the main hallway. He waves a hand without looking behind him as he returns to the ring.  
  
"Enjoy the show, Oswald."  
  
-  
  
The show is a roaring, gory spectacle as always. The collective mass of lowlifes reek of sweat, blood, and cheap beer, and Ed is the glittering gem in the midst of them, an electric emerald meant to dazzle.  
  
He takes the stage to introduce Grundy, and the audience hoots and hollers in anticipation of their favorite fighter.  His gaze turns upward to the balcony, where Oswald stands: stiff, proper, and unimpressed. Without looking away from Oswald, Ed grins, waves his hand and demands the crowd to scream for him, voice a booming, throaty growl.  
  
Oswald shifts and breaks eye contact to look to the side, flustered. Ed laughs and laughs, and the audience goes wild.  
  
-

The majority of the crowd has dispersed by the time Ed finds Oswald waiting near backstage.  He looks decidedly less flustered than he did on the balcony, but not as cold as when they first met this evening.  Oswald’s eyes flutter, his grip on his cane iron-clad.  He’s nervous.

“Well, thank you for that marvelously entertaining feature, Ed,” Oswald says, nerves doing little to dilute the poison in his words. “Good to know that the city can rely on you to provide only the _highest_ caliber entertainment.”

Oswald’s prodding Ed’s weak spots like a butcher looking where to make the first cut.  They’ve always been good at this, this exchange of barbs right where it hurts the most.

But Edward isn’t here to fight.  He forces his ego to ignore the bruise.

“And thank you, Oswald, for taking time out of your oh-so-busy schedule to come see it,” Ed clips back, smiling until his face hurts.

Just enough sarcasm to goad Oswald, but not enough to have him storm off.  Riling up Oswald is a delicate art, and Ed seeks nothing less than perfection in his artwork.

“Of course,” Oswald says, plastic smile returning.

But then, Oswald pauses.  Licks his lips.  Turns those earnest eyes at Ed, and Ed knows he has him.

“But let’s be frank with each other for a minute, old friend - was the bloodbath the only reason you invited me here?”

Had they both been younger, Ed would think he heard a note of hope in Oswald’s voice.  But they’re both older, scarred in more ways than one; there is no room between their knives and rivalry for hope.

“Not exactly,” Ed croons, and it takes a great effort not to laugh at the way Oswald swallows.

“Then what is it? As you said, I am a very busy man,” Oswald says - no, demands.

Ed takes a step closer, if only for the satisfaction of watching Oswald do his best to maintain a hardened expression.  He leans in a fraction, tone quiet and furtive as he explains, “Down the left corridor is another hallway.  Take a right.  Last room at the end - meet me there in twenty minutes if you want a _real_ show.”

He doesn’t look at Oswald’s face.  He doesn’t turn back to see where Oswald is going.

Oswald will come.  Ed can count on it.

-

Precisely twenty-two minutes later, there’s a knock on Ed’s bedroom door.  

“Come in, Oswald.”

The door opens slowly, cautiously, like Oswald is expecting a trap on the other side (a paranoid man, but not without reason).  Oswald steps in, closes the door behind him, and turns to Ed.  Ed doesn’t bother to conceal his laughter when Oswald flinches backward, hand steadying himself on the door as his face twists in horror.

“Ed, _what the -”_ Oswald chokes, eyes wide and chest already heaving.

Grundy, naked and straddling Ed’s hips, looks over his meaty, grey shoulder to send Oswald a displeased look at the outburst.  Ed coos under his breath, leans back on his hands to entice Grundy to look his way again.  It works; Grundy returns to paw and nuzzle at Ed’s bare chest, fat tongue laving over one of Ed’s nipples.  Ed sighs, shoots Oswald a pleasure-pleased smile.

Oswald’s hand has fallen to the doorknob, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t look away from the lewd display.  

“ _Ed_ , what are you _doing_ , oh my god, isn’t that _Butch_ -”

“Uh uh,” Ed scolds, tangling one hand in Grundy’s hair to distract him.  “We don’t use the ‘B’ word in this establishment.  His name is Grundy.”

“Grundy,” the beastly man helpfully confirms, his thick slobber dripping down Ed’s chest.

Watching Oswald’s expression contort into five different levels of disgust is darling.  And then his face freezes, a dawning realization brightening his pale features, eyes as clear as glass.

“You - you said Tetch and Barnes do more than just work here.  Does that mean…?” Oswald stammers, out of breath like he’s been running.

Ed leers at Oswald through a hooded gaze.  Oswald’s face burns bright red as he turns to the door, shrieking out some nonsense with an _oh my god_ added in somewhere.

Oswald’s shaking.  Still, he doesn’t leave.  And isn’t that just _telling_.

“You could have this too, Oswald,” Ed offers, a sultry reminder.

He wishes he could see Oswald’s face when he sharply inhales, body stiffening.  Just the sound is a shot to his system, like a shark catching its first whiff of blood.

Ed can’t remember when he last felt so hungry.

When Oswald slowly turns back to face Ed, his face is even redder before, his eyes bug-big and maniacal.

“You are a _sick man_ , Edward Nygma!” Oswald screeches, spit flying from his lips as he points a finger at Ed.

Head lolling to the side, Ed can only chuckle as the poor bird trembles where he stands - mostly rage, sure, but Ed knows there’s more to it.

If Ed had any doubt on the matter, they disappear the moment Oswald’s gaze drops to Ed’s slick, bare chest when Grundy slides off Ed to level a glare at Oswald.  Grundy growls, protective of his master, and Ed runs a soothing hand down the expanse of Grundy’s back.

“No need to shout,” Ed says, fingers feather light on Grundy’s skin, down and back again.  “Now, are you going to calm down and join us?”

“No! And I think this is a perfectly normal reaction to what I’m seeing, and will never be able to unsee!”

More screaming, another spray of saliva.  Grundy growls loud enough for Oswald to take a step back.  Ed sighs.

“Grundy, be a dear and put on some pants and wait outside.  Daddy needs to talk to Oswald alone,” Ed says, pats Grundy on the cheek.

From the corner of his eye, Ed can see Oswald freeze at the word ‘daddy’, followed by another sharp inhale.  Ed’s half-hard dick stirs, aches against the tight line of his green pants.  Duly noted reaction, one he will revisit at a later time.

Although Grundy doesn’t drop his guard dog act, he obeys Ed as always, throwing on his pants and stalking past Oswald, who shirks back into the corner.  Oswald locks the door behind him, as if something as simple as a lock will keep the superhuman Grundy out.  But Ed doesn’t tell Oswald that; he lets him have his delusion.

“There’s nothing we need to talk about Ed,” Oswald says, more hissing, cornered cat than bird.

Without the distraction of Grundy, Ed’s focus hones in on Oswald with nefarious intensity.  Oswald doesn’t shirk underneath the scrutiny, not even when Ed slowly stands, crossing the room in careful, purposeful strides.  

“I beg to differ,” Ed murmurs.

Ed stops, hardly two feet between the two of them.  Close enough that he can see the swirls of color in Oswald’s eyes, can almost feel the panted breath.  Ed smiles.  Oswald’s jaw clenches.

“Because you can call me ‘sick’ all you want, Oswald, but we both know the truth,” Ed says, a sick smugness clinging to each syllable.

Oswald’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t concede defeat.  Fortunately, Ed knows how to expedite that process.

He leans in a fraction, rests a hand on Oswald’s hip and smiles at the way Oswald’s eyes widen.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Ed says, all husky, dark rasp, hand tightening on Oswald’s hip.

 _You like me_ _this way_.

Oswald gasps, wriggling in Ed’s grasp like a fly in a web, and Ed can feel his dick leak in his pants.  Oswald makes such pretty prey.

Eyelids in flutter, cherry red lips part - all the answer Ed needs.  _I do._

Because Oswald doesn’t want earnest, geeky Edward Nygma.  He wants the twisted, sick hand of The Riddler, who can hurt and soothe in the same breath, and Ed’s more than ready to give Oswald what he’s desired for so long.

Fingers rub slow circles against Oswald’s hip as Ed shuffles closer yet, close enough for his breath to tickle the spiked crown of Oswald’s hair.  

“It’s alright to want it, you know,” Ed adds, voice warm honey as he moves his hand to the small of Oswald’s back, and Oswald actually squints his eyes shut with a gasping whimper, the poor, _easy_ thing.

Lips brush across Oswald’s forehead, a tender gesture as he finishes, “Let yourself have it, Oswald.  Let me take care of you the way you need it.”

Still caressing Oswald’s back, Ed leans back an inch to take in Oswald’s expression.  Oswald’s face is still rosy, a thin sheen of sweat prickling his hairline as his plump lips tremble, like the words he wants to say are caught in his throat.  Eyes are as big as ever, and when Ed meets Oswald’s gaze, he can see the internal war waging within.

Oswald’s pride doesn’t want him to give in.  But Oswald _does_ want to relent, at least to some degree, and it scares him.

Ed doesn’t push, just lets Oswald blink and stutter and come to his own conclusion.

A few seconds later, Oswald wrenches backward, hitting the door with a thud.  Ed’s arm falls uselessly at his side.

“Goodbye, Ed,” Oswald spits, his voice hot with emotion, eyes wet around the edges.

Oswald unlocks the door and leaves in a huff.  Ed doesn’t try to stop him.

-

Later, after a lazy roll in bed with Grundy and Barnes, Ed heads to the bar for a post-fuck drunk.  Lee’s already there, downing the last of an electric blue cocktail like it’s water.

“So,” she says as Ed takes a seat and orders drink with the raise of his finger.  “I saw Penguin storm out.  Guess he didn’t like the idea after all.”

The bartender gives Ed his green cocktail, and Ed accepts it with a low, dark laugh.

“He’ll be back,” Ed promises, more to himself than Lee.

He downs the drink, and the bite of the alcohol mixing with the pleasure-warm fog in his brain feels like heaven.


End file.
